


Thug

by Discreet



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Discreet/pseuds/Discreet
Summary: An ordinary day for a pair of ABB drug dealers.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Thug

**Author's Note:**

> CW for Thug: Casual sexism.

"Glory Girl, dude? Seriously?"

"What? You saying you wouldn't hit that if you had the chance?

In the courtyard of two towering housing complexes were two young men. They should have been at school making up for failed years, but instead they were sitting atop a park table, their feet resting on the bench seat.

One had the beginnings of a mustache and goatee, faint wisps of scraggly hair. He went by the name of Van and he had to admit he probably would sleep with Glory Girl. "I mean, I guess."

He knew he never would, of course.

"Right?" said the other young man, grinning. The stockier, and bigger of the two, he was called Wayman. "You see some of the pictures she posts online? She knows exactly what she's doing."

Van snorted. "Yeah? What's that?"

"What, you haven't seen her feed? She's a total tease. There's this one picture, she does a little eye-rolling, a little lip-smacking action. Aw, she's a fucking show-off."

Van scoffed. "You're full of it."

"Here," Wayman pulled out his phone. "Check it."

With a precursory eye roll, Van checked it. He scoffed again, louder than before. "She's just having some ice cream, dude."

"Well, yeah, but look at her!" Wayman shook his phone for emphasis. "She  _ wants _ it."

Van blew out his lips. "Yeah, sure. Keep dreaming. That's a whole other world."

Wayman sucked his teeth in and put away his phone. "Whatever, man."

The two sat in silence for a moment. On the subject of girls, Van's thoughts drifted to Yumi, the cute girl who was working at Fugly Bob’s. He had gotten to talking to her a few weeks back, found out she attended his old church, and suddenly he had a reason to be pious again. Van had enlisted the help of his grandma who was more than happy to play along and now he, his grandma and Yumi were set to go to church together next Sunday. It was not quite a date, but if it meant spending time with Yumi, Van was prepared to endure however many hours of sermon he needed to.

He had a smile on his face when the first customer of the day arrived.

"Hey," said a skinny white guy. He had his hands deep in his pockets as if they might be stained and he looked over his shoulder twice in the time it took Van to reply "Hey" back.

"What you looking for?" asked Wayman.

"Yeah, uh," said the white guy, shifting from foot to foot. "You got any pills? Something for a trip?"

"You want something psychedelic?" asked Wayman.

The white guy smiled at that word. "Yeah, yeah, exactly. Something cool."

"We got something," Wayman said. "$30 for a pair. Take one and you'll be tripping the whole day. Real good time."

"Yeah, that's perfect. I'll take it."

"Let's see the money, then."

White guy pulled his hands out of his pockets and came up with three twenties.

"Gimme four," he said as if Wayman and Van couldn't do basic fucking math.

Van didn't take it personally and got the acid tabs out from his jacket. They were individually sealed, but paired off by a tear line.

As Wayman took the white guy's money and Van handed the acid over.

However, the white guy frowned at what he had gotten. "These aren't pills," he said.

"They're tabs," said Wayman. "Put them under your tongue, let them melt, enjoy. It ain't complicated."

"Oh," said the white guy, still a little uncertain.

"What?" asked Wayman, danger rising in his voice. "You got a problem with that?"

White guy flinched and held up his hands. "No, no, it's fine. Thanks. I'll go now."

And off he went, scurrying away like he had just shit his pants.

"Fucker," Wayman muttered under his breath.

Van just shook his head. “Man, you gotta ease up a bit.”

“What?”

“Ease. Up,” said Van. “Not going to have any customers if you scare’em all off.”

“What are you on about?” Wayman said, scowling. “That guy was trying to pull some shit. If you let’em whine too long, they’ll start thinking they can boss you around, asking for refunds and shit. If you don’t set’em straight, they’ll fuck with you.”

Van rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. He had been friends with Wayman since middle school, and as good as Wayman was to have in a fight, he was just as bull-headed about everything else. “Alright, whatever.”

Wayman gave him a look, but didn’t make any more of it.

As the two waited for their next customer, Van’s thoughts stretched back to Yumi. She would be working right about now. Pressed and buttoned into a Fugly Bob’s uniform, her hair tied and pulled back under the red cap that she was required to wear. It wasn’t a good look, but somehow Yumi made it work.

Van was going to have some money soon, enough to buy a moped maybe. He might be able to get Yumi to ride with him. He had heard her saying she wanted to go visit the beach sometime and if he had a ride, she might actually say yes if he asked. Van smiled at the thought of her wrapping her arms around his middle as they cruised by the oceanside.

As Van daydreamed, the second customer of the day arrived.

She was pretty, but not in the way Yumi was. Her hair was black and laid straight back, she wore a puffy jacket, over large on her tiny frame and there was not an ounce of hesitation to her.

Regardless of being a Glory Girl fan, Wayman sat up a little straighter at the sight of her.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound smooth, “You looking for something?”

The girl stopped before them, looked at each of them with silent judgement before finally answering. “Yeah. Your boss.”

Van and Wayman shared a look.

“Er,” said Van, “Who exactly do you think that is?”

The girl scowled. “Lung,  _ obviously _ . Are you going to gawk at me all day or are you going to get him or not?”

Another moment of shock went through the pair of dealers and it was Wayman who found his tongue first. “W _ hat the fuck _ . Who the hell do you think you are?”

“You don’t recognize me?” asked the girl.

“ _ No _ . Am I supposed to?”

“You don’t watch the news very much, do you,” said the girl. She put her fingers to her eyes and just when Van was thinking she was poking them out, she pulled them away to reveal a pair of contacts. Colored contacts that gave her black irises. Without them, her eyes were a shocking blue. It was a strange color to see on an Asian girl and it set Van off-balance. Shouldn’t the colors have been the other way around?

“Still don’t recognize me?” she said, sneering now.

Wayman scoffed. “ _ Again _ , no, I don’t. You supposed to be some sort of famous whore or something? The Blue-Eyed Bi—“

The girl flicked her fingers and the contacts flew off them.

One landed on Wayman’s pants leg, the other landed on his cheek. “The fuck?” he said.

The girl clicked her tongue twice and a pair of pops matched them.

Van jumped and nearly fell from his perch. Gunshots were his first thought, the Empire must’ve decided to finally move in on their territory. But before he could scramble for cover, a blood-curdling scream erupted from his partner.

Wayman flailed wildly, hands clutching his face and he flopped off the park table where they had set up shop. He hit the ground and rolled until he was on his back, and finally, Van saw what was causing his friend such agony.

Two walnut-sized holes had been carved out of Wayman's flesh. One in his right thigh, the other on his face, exposing his teeth from the side of his cheek. Blood poured out from the openings and with all Wayman's thrashing, it gushed even worse.

"Tch. That was way too small." The girl scowled. "Should've laced more compound in the silicone."

Van blinked, and looked at her. His heart was racing and his mind was fuzzy with adrenaline, but his body wouldn’t move. He was fixed in place, unable to form a thought or generate even a reflexive impulse.

"Hey," said the girl and Van froze even more than he already had, not even breathing.

" _ Hey _ !" she yelled and this time Van had to answer.

On the ground, Wayman's screams had quieted to low aching moans.

"Y-yeah?" said Van.

"Can you call your fucking boss now?"

"Uh," said Van.

"Or I could just explode your face off and find someone else," said the girl with a sneer.

"No, no, I'll call him, I'll call him!" Van jammed his hands into his pockets and fished his phone out with such force that it nearly flew across the courtyard. He managed to get the phone around and with trembling hands started to dial…

Well, it wasn't like Van had Lung's number. Or Oni Lee's for that matter.

"Well?" asked the girl. "What's the hold-up?"

Van swallowed, his mouth painfully dry. "Just uh… just a second."

The closest thing to a boss Van had was a man by the name of Tong. A mean bastard who liked to chew on cigars and chew out newbies. Calling him was just asking for a beating. In this situation, though, not calling him was asking to get killed.

Wayman groaned. He was no longer rolling around, his hands covered his face as if he was crying. If he was, there would be no way to tell the tears from the red.

Van dialed Tong and the girl watched him dispassionately. She raised a hand — Van's heart nearly stopped — but all she did was put her finger in her ear and dig out some wax. She flicked the extract off over Wayman's body and for a moment Van worried that that too might explode.

The call connected before he found out.

"Yeah? Who is this?"

The gruff voice of Tong would've terrified Van any other time, but now all he felt was relief. "It's Van. Van down at the Dale towers."

"Yeah?"

"Yes!" cried Van. "Look, you got to bring Lung down here. It's really important!"

"The fuck? You think you can just— "

"There's someone here who wants to see him!"

Across from him, the girl smiled. Van’s guts clenched.

"Who?" asked Tong, curt as ever.

"It's uh… it's…" Van looked to the girl. "Who should I say you are?"

Blue eyes gleamed as the girl’s smile turned into a grin, manic and wild, stretching from ear to ear like they were pulled back by string.

"Bakuda," she said.

"Bakuda…” Van repeated. He took a shuddering breath. “I… I think she's a cape."

Tong’s one word response was all Van needed to know he was right: "Shit."

Tong hung up.

Van didn’t register it at first. The dial tone stretched on like flatlining life support and all Van could think about was Yumi. Smart, pretty Yumi with her whole future set out before her. She was going to make it out of this hellhole. She had to. She was going to work her way up and into college, graduate with honors and awards and whatever other shit they gave the good students. She was going to get out of Brockton Bay, be one of those model refugee stories the church people liked to parade around.

Wayman moaned, reminding Van that yes, he was alive, yes, he was in horrible pain, and that yes, Van was next.

"Well?" Bakuda said, "What did your boss say?"

Van swallowed hard, and it was in that moment he found his one chance at survival. "He's coming," Van said, not lying, but praying, "Fifteen minutes or so. Says he wants to talk. Peacefully."

"Hmm…" hummed Bakuda. "Alright, I guess I can wait."

She stepped over Wayman's still twitching body and hopped up onto the patio table to sit beside Van. Close enough that Van could reach over and hug her… or strangle her.

"So you been in Brockton Bay long?" asked Bakuda.

Van stared. Bakuda sat with her legs crossed, relaxed like she was out at a barbecue.

"Seems like a nice place," she went on. "Fresh ocean breeze, comfortable climate, and from what I hear a really  _ popping _ nightlife."

She shot Van a smirk, but when he didn't smile back, her expression dropped into a scowl. "Get it?"

"Ha," said Van, somewhat strangled. "Ha, ha, ha. Yeah. Popping." He forced on a smile. "Funny."

Bakuda rolled her eyes. "Don't patronize me. Or if you do, at least be more convincing about it." She threw a hand over her eyes, a dramatic flourish. "God, I hope the rest of the ABB aren't as dull as you and your friend."

At the mention of his friend, Van glanced again at Wayman. The twitching had stopped. Wayman lay there on the ground, motionless.

"Once I kill Lung and take control of the ABB, I'll have to whip the whole lot of you into shape. Really set things straight. Maybe I'll wipe those Nazis out just to set an example." She paused. "Or I could just bomb a few hospitals, that'd probably be easier. Well, it doesn't really matter. I'll have this city under my thumb shortly and then I can move onto the  _ real _ big league."

Bakuda looked off into the distance, her manic daydreams outpacing her own voice.

Van didn't mind because so long as Bakuda was thinking of the future, she wasn't thinking about killing him. He sat, back stiff and hands clenched like a student facing expulsion. He had lied about Lung's arrival, but it couldn't have been much of a lie, could it? Bakuda had shown up on ABB territory and killed one of their own. Lung couldn't let that stand, could he? He had to answer back. He had to protect his people.

Swirling desperate thoughts filled Van's head. He imagined running or begging or even fighting, but each time, all Van could see at the end of each scenario was the cold lifeless body of his friend, Wayman.

Van’s thoughts started to turn to high powers, God, Jesus, Buddha, whatever there was, Van needed it. He didn’t want to die here, not like this.

And it was then that Van saw his salvation.

A massive black Hummer almost too big for the street approached the courtyard, looking more like a tank than an automobile. It was Lung’s car. The Air Force One of the ABB. Van had only seen it once before, not even the man inside, but that had been enough for Van to get the message. This was not a man to be fucked with.

Bakuda perked up at the sight of it. “Ah, so he arrives.”

Van nearly sobbed. He might actually live through this.

The Hummer pulled to a stop, still some distance away, but clearly in view. The windows were tinted black, too dark to look through, but it had to be Lung in there. Van strained to see more, to see some sign of his leader. Where was Lung? Why hadn’t he come out yet?

“Ugh,” Bakuda groaned, “What’s taking him so lo— “

Bakuda whirled around in the other direction, her eyes snapping wide open.

On the other side of the courtyard, having just walked out from behind one of the project towers, was Lung. He was shirtless as he usually was, six foot tall, as solidly built as his Hummer, and wearing the iron mask of his namesake. He wasted no time on words and sucked in a breath as if he was preparing to blow a house down. Or burn it down with his breath.

But that couldn’t be right. Van blinked, feeling time slow to a crawl. Van was right next to Bakuda. In the line of fire, so to speak. Lung couldn’t be attacking. Not like this. Not with Van there.

The fire bloomed out from Lung like a flower. A swirl of reds, oranges, yellows and whites. A beautiful bouquet that filled the world inch by inch, blotting everything out until there was nothing left but the roaring flames.

Van didn’t even have time to scream.

\---

\---

\---

Daylight stung Van awake. He opened his eyes, a long, laborious effort that felt like he was peeling tape off. The world opened fraction by fraction until finally Van saw where he was.

A hospital room. Van inhaled, coughed and opened his eyes a little wider.

More than just a hospital, this was a  _ nice _ hospital. The tiled floor was polished to a gleam and the window by his bedside faced a flowery garden. His bed and all the machines hooked up to him looked brand new.

Van wondered just how much this was all going to cost him. He winced at the thought and just like that, pain washed over him like hot oil. Van writhed for a moment, until his brain figured out that the moving was what was making him hurt. With gritted teeth, Van stilled himself until the burning across his body faded.

He was covered in burns, every inch of skin raw and pink, but as Van surveyed the damage, he had the thought that this wasn’t so bad. For how much fire had surrounded him, he had only been burned a little…

Van’s eyes fell on his right arm, and he only saw the stem of a black limb, swallowed by white bandages. There was no feeling there. Not even pain.

Before he could consider what that meant — what he  _ was _ now — there was a rattle at the door.

Van sat up, ignoring the sting that went with movement, his first thought going to Yumi. He half-feared, half-hoped that she had come. He didn’t want to be seen like this, burned and broken, but at the same time, he longed to look at her. To maybe feel something other than agony.

The door opened and Tong stepped into the room. Van’s heavyset kind-of boss looked out of place in the sterile hospital room, an antithesis of good health. He glanced at Van with beady eyes, before looking away. Clearing his throat, he shuffled closer.

“Hey,” said Tong, “It is me. Tong.”

If it was weird to see Tong without a cigar, it was weirder to see him so meek. “H… hey” Van managed to say.

Tong forced on a smile, tight-lipped. He held it past the point of comfortable. Then with a rough clearing of the throat, he went on. “You were friends with the other boy, yes? Hui-min?”

“Wayman?” Van blinked. “Yes! Yes, I— augh!” Van sat back in the bed and let out a staggered breath. “I… yeah. How is he?”

“Ah,” said Tong. “Dead.”

Dead. Tong’s flat voice echoed in Van’s head. He had already known Wayman’s chances were slim. Van was pretty sure his friend had bled out right in front of him. But at the same time, his own miraculous recovery had given him a sliver of hope. Maybe Wayman had made it out, too. Maybe his friend had been still alive.

“It is… very unfortunate,” said Tong. He paused. “Do you know his family?”

“I… yeah, I do.”

“Ah, good.” Tong reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of hundred dollar bills. “You give this to them, okay? Tell them, the ABB is sorry for their loss.” He paused again and then in a lower voice. “You tell them that the Merchants did this.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“A gang of Merchants. They cornered you and your friend and set you on fire. Do you understand?”

“The fuck!” cried Van, ignoring the resonating throb from his raised voice. “What are you talking about? It was that bitch! Bakuda!”

Tong frowned. The expression Van was most familiar with on the man. “You are mistaken. The Merchants did this. Bakuda is now a member of the ABB, a loyal subordinate. She is one of us now.”

Van stared, mouth open, and for a moment he forgot how much he hurt. He looked away from Tong. It hadn’t just been Bakuda’s fault.

“And Lung,” he whispered. “That motherfucker… that piece of shit! He blew me up! I was right there and he—“

A meaty hand wrapped around Van’s throat and pinned him to the back of the bed. A squeak passed through Van’s lips and all the burns on his body flared again.

“You. Are. Mistaken,” growled Tong. “It was the Merchants, understand?”

“I… ah…”

Tong’s hand squeezed. “Understand?”

“Y-yes. It was… Merchants.”

“Good.” Tong let go and Van gasped to catch his breath. Tong went on as if nothing had happened. “It is very unfortunate what happened to you and your friend, but the ABB takes care of its own.” He held up the roll of cash and put it on the table next to Van’s bed. “You give this to your friend’s family. You tell them that it was the Merchants.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two more rolls of cash.“And these are for you.” He set the cash down. The most money Van had ever seen at once. “It will be hard for you with your injuries, you will not be able to work as one usually does. But you are a part of the ABB. We will take care of you.”

That was too much. Van laughed. “Is that fucking so?”

Tong didn’t even blink. “Yes. What happened… was unfortunate. But we have an understanding, yes?”

It was all bullshit. Van’s jaw clenched, and again he had to ignore the swell of accompanying pain. He ought to walk out on the fuckers. The ABB was no family, no brotherhood. Van was just another pawn on the chessboard to be sacrificed when convenient.

He thought of Yumi. He could go to her. Run away together to wherever would take them. Whatever promising future she had, maybe, just maybe he could be a part of it, too.

Tong cleared his throat. He was the one in the room right now.

“Do you understand?” he asked again.

Van looked away. At his bedside were the two rolls of cash, tightly wound and packed together. Enough to buy a moped and have plenty left over.

This time, Tong didn’t force Van’s answer. He sniffed and shrugged. “Think on it. Be realistic.”

Tong turned and left without so much as a goodbye.

When the door closed behind Tong, Van shut his eyes. He had moved too much and he ached now. Spoken too much, breathed too much. Every moment of life like this was too much.

He was in a nightmare. That was the only explanation. None of this was real and if he just closed his eyes, then maybe when he opened them again he would be back in the real world where his body was whole and Wayman was alive. Van thought of Yumi, how he would hold her, kiss her, cherish her for all his life.

He would be better, Van promised. So please, God, just let him wake from this hell.

Slowly, gradually, despite the pain or because of it, Van drifted off to sleep.

It was the only escape he had.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for the Parahuman Fanzine - download the full zine [here](https://parahumanzine.tumblr.com/post/636685203187892224/the-time-has-come-thanks-to-all-the-contributors). It's a great showcase of the talent in the Worm fan community and if you like this story even a little, chances are you'll love the rest of the zine cause it's loads better. [Go read it now!](https://parahumanzine.tumblr.com/post/636685203187892224/the-time-has-come-thanks-to-all-the-contributors)


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